One Love, One Lifetime
by timeisfleeting
Summary: False promises were all that she had offered to either of them. Could she ever right it? What happens when you can't answer the questions? EC, standard disclaimers apply.
1. Think of Me

Note I: This phic will be closer to the movie, as I am more familiar with it than the book.  
Note II: The usual amount of fop-bashing is to be expected, as I am an EC shipper and Raoul and his hair annoy the beejezus out of me. (shudders) those sideburns.  
Disclaimer: I do not own POTO or any of the associated actors/music/characters. If I did, you'd be seeing a lot less of Gerard Butler, now wouldn't you? ;)

**Think Of Me**

**Christine**

_"It's over now, the music of the night!"_  
"Christine?" Christine woke sharply, torn from the soul-wrenching voice. Raoul gazed at her with fond regard. "You were dreaming." Her lips twitched, the motion more a grimace than a smile. "Yes." Her eyes glistened strangely. _One month, and I can't get him out of my mind for even a night. He'll always be there, singing songs in my head._ The Phantom's intensely blue eyes pierced her from behind the white mask. He had seemingly disappeared from the Opera Populaire, restored to its former glory by the Vicomte. Christine had gone back to the Opera, very much against the wishes of her fiancé. She admitted, every time she was in her dressing room, she looked for the familiar red rose. And every time that it was not there, she felt a plunge in her stomach. Of course she could not expect him to come to her again so easily. Her affection for 'the fop' that the Phantom so despised, and her subsequent betrayal, prevented him. He would watch, but he would not intervene. She felt his eyes upon her in the theatre, a presence behind the walls that would not reveal itself. Regret washed over her for her hasty choice. For affection was all that she had for Raoul, she was more sure of that with each moment that passed. And her own cruelty had driven away the only man she could have loved, forcing him into the shadows, confirming his own belief in his mind that he was a monster. "Christine." She flinched, brought out of her musings. Raoul's eyes were intent upon hers, his face betraying his irritation. "I thought we'd agreed to forget about him, Christine." The dark eyes were flat, with no light in them. She could not help contrasting them with the shining brilliance of her Angel of Music. But Raoul expected some sort of answer. "He was a part of my life for ten years, Raoul." She stared into the mirror on her vanity, not really seeing the reflection. "I cannot forget him in a mere month"

He snapped back, surprised, apparently, that her mind had not changed since their last argument. "I see. As always, you are torn between us. Is that why you stall the wedding? Do I not measure up to your Angel of Music?" His mouth was tight, hands curling. "Raoul." Her face was set. _I can't keep lying to them both. _"I don't-"

A muscle in his jaw twitched. "I'm beginning to dislike your tone, Christine. Have you forgotten that I too, am a part of your life?" A rare fire sparked in her at the words; fueled by long nights of arguing. "Where were you when I was orphaned? Did you shelter me in the Opera House? Did you tutor me so I could rise to a position where no one would harm me? Where were you those ten years when I was here?" Her cheeks were flushed, eyes shining with anger. Raoul was momentarily stunned, but quickly recovered. "Christine, you're under a lot of stress, I understand." His tone became that of a parent toward a errant child. "Perhaps you'd best go lie down. I'll leave you alone to think this over."

**Erik**

He could scarce credit the moment, as he stared out of the mirror. Christine arguing with the fop? What had she meant to say before he had cut her off? _"I don't-"_  
The Phantom's eyes narrowed from behind the black mask he now wore, hands itching for his Punjab lasso as the fop tried to pacify Christine in the most patronizing tone he had ever heard, treating her like an petulant child and leaving her without even listening to what she had been trying to tell him. _Little Lotte indeed. _The Phantom thought, seething. His Angel of Music stared blankly at the door, seemingly unable to move.

The Vicomte was under no such constraints. The Opera Ghost knew exactly where he had gone. The affair had developed after the fop no longer found the responses he wanted in Christine, responses he would never get unless they were married. And Christine did not seem at all desirous of a wedding. The Phantom almost laughed at the irony of it. He, shunned and alone all his years, read people better than a fop socialite! The fop's condescending manner sickened him. Rather than discussing the matter with Christine, the fop had gone elsewhere to slake his desires. His current ballet rat, Celeste, and he were probably in the storage room by now. The insult to his Angel of Music had brought him close to wringing the fop's neck. He had kept out because of Christine. She had made her choice quite clear. _"I gave you my mind blindly." _

But now- seeing her bury her face in her hands, the slight quiver in her shoulders, the droop of her head, the glimmer between her fingers.

A small, barely audible sob escaped her and made up his mind for him. He swept back, his route taking him toward the door to the dressing room.

**Christine**

A whisper of sound drew her back from the cold places in her heart. Her heart leapt. And fell, as she realized that it could not have been the rustle of that familiar cloak. Still, drawn to the door, she opened it. Outside, she saw nothing.

Then- a flicker of movement caught her eye. Heart beating faster, she moved to follow it. After three twisting hallways, she heard soft murmuring. Flushing, she began to back away. But before she could turn, she saw what she had been longing to see for so many nights. A red rose, tied with a velvet ribbon. The sight of the crimson petals was too much. She was there in the space of a moment, fingering the petals, the feel of them causing the tears that had welled at the sight of the rose to spill.

"Celeste..."

**Why Have You Brought Me Here?**

**Christine**

Christine froze, tears forgotten. _Could that have been...? _No. She began to turn, half-afraid of what she might interrupt if she was wrong. Her imagination was running wild, Raoul would not be down here. He was probably sulking at his house with his cronies and nursing a glass of wine.

"Vicomte!" A playful titter. Christine went still-but only for a moment. Boldly stepping forward, she felt herself blazing with a strange emotion as she wrenched open the door. Two faces, blank with shock, blinked at her.

Raoul and a half-clad chorus girl, nude to the waist- his hands on her body, lips just above her neck, hers twined in his hair. Her body pressed up against the wall, his molding against hers. Eyes lined with garish shadow stared at her, lips reddened with carmine were open in shock. "Oh." the girl said, a nervous giggle escaping her. She attempted to wriggle out of Raoul's grasp, toward the door. He would not release her. His eyes were strangely triumphant on Christine's as he raised his head. "How does it feel, Christine? One betrayal for another. Only fair, don't you think?" His fingers dug into the girl's flesh and she jumped. Christine's eyes blazed. "How dare you-"

"You've spent time with him, Christine, since you came back here. Did you think I wouldn't notice"

"I never!" Christine stood tall, rigid with fury. "I would never have betrayed you so, Raoul!" Her voice became suddenly chilly. "But now that you show me what you think of me, I see that the only one I've betrayed is myself." _Very melodramatic, Christine._ She thought.

His lips twisted in a cynical smile. "Don't play the innocent, Aminta, it doesn't suit you anymore"

Stung by the reference to her performance in _Don Juan_, she lashed out. "I don't love you, Raoul, can't you see?" She halted his words with a look. "And while I never loved you, I never betrayed you either. You've lost whatever affection I had for you, Raoul, with this little stunt"

Raoul's mouth tightened, he released the ballet wench to stride over to her jerkily. His movements were a far cry from the Phantom's deadly grace.The girl took the convenient opportunity to scamper past. Christine steeled herself, willing her eyes not to waver as she glared back at him. He took her wrist, she tried to shake him off, mistaking the gesture. With a sharp jerk, he pulled her to him, her wrist aching. "Vicomte!" She glared up at him.

He slapped her. She froze, the left side of her face stinging. "Enough, Christine." His tone was icy. "Stop being so childish. You've brought this upon yourself." He brought his hand back to strike her again. Christine braced herself, squeezing her eyes shut as her wrist screamed a protest. The pain did not come. She opened her eyes, and was paralyzed. She could only stare in wonder.

The Vicomte's wrist was held tight in a Punjab lasso, and behind him- behind him blue eyes blazed out from behind an unfamiliar black half-mask. The voice of the angel, deep and awesome, came out of the shadows. "Get away from her."

The Vicomte flinched. Christine saw his hand jerk toward the short, decorative belt-knife he had begun carrying after Christine went back to the Opera Populaire. The Phantom flicked the rope, causing the Vicomte's face to blanch. Than, after a long and uncomfortable moment, he freed the lasso. "Get out." Raoul eyed Christine venomously and moved toward her. The Phantom strode forward. "I warned you once, _Vicomte._" He spat the word as though it were a disease. "Now go"  
Raoul glared back over his shoulder as he passed the door. "This isn't over, Christine"  
The Phantom answered him with a mocking half-bow and the Vicomte stormed off.

**Erik**

He took Christine's wrist gently, hesitantly. When the expected resistance did not come, he inspected the purpling ring around her wrist. "Did he break anything?" His bright eyes searched her face, lingering with disapproval on the red mark on the left side of her face. Momentarily captivated, as she always was, Christine whispered. "No." Her own eyes sought the Phantom's. The distance was suddenly too close. Beautiful and frightening. He stepped back, dropping her wrist. The intoxicating touch had been, for him, too much, too soon. How could he think to touch her after she had rejected him? He almost regretted his interference, but for him, there had been no choice. _No._ He thought, the image of the fop debasing his angel coming back. _I could not have stood idle_. That step appeared to snap her out of her comatose state. She sat down abruptly on an upturned box. "Why did you show me that?" Her voice was thick, eyes beginning to glisten. Now, with that boy out of the room, her anger began to dissipate into anguish.  
He would not deny that he had led her here. He would not make this gentle on her. If he did, she would go right back to that undeserving fop; her damnable, pacifistic, conscience would demand his forgiveness for her harsh words, no matter how true they had been. "I never thought you would enjoy living a lie, Christine? Was I wrong?" His eyes were direct, challenging.

"I-" she began. She slumped. "But why this way?" Tears began to fall, tears that he would not wipe away for her, as much as it gnawed at him to see his angel crying.

"Would you have believed me if I told you"

"I was ha-" She halted, blinked.

"You were not happy, Christine. I watched you cry. I heard you mourning for it. _'A sacrifice- and all for nothing. For a man I do not even love'._ Do not tell me, Christine, that you loved that boy; do not lie to me." Christine's tears slowed, her face pensive and pained. "No." She whispered. "I won't lie to you again." Her face shone softly as she looked up at him with a light in her eyes that terrified them both. "Not to my Angel of Music."

**Angel Of Music**

**Erik **

He flinched. "Do not call me that. I am, as you know, no angel. My face, my soul, are as twisted as you told me"

"They are only as twisted as you believe them to be." She stood. "You are the only one of us that has not lied to the other."

He raised an eyebrow. The simple gesture was more eloquent than any thousand words another man might say. "How do you come to that conclusion, Christine? I pretended to be your Angel of Music for ten years."

Christine raised her head, stepped toward him. He was drowning in the soft brown eyes. Before he could retreat, she said simply. "You were my angel."

Trying to stay cold toward her was damnably hard with the innocent brown eyes gazing at him, no matter what she had done to him. He tried to raise the cool facade that had served him in the past. "But not anymore, Christine, am I correct?"

She came closer still, ignoring the chill tone that had once kept her at bay. "I told you I wouldn't lie to you again. You are still my angel, whatever you believe yourself to be." A lissome hand reached up to his face. He tensed, the memory of a similar gesture one month ago freezing him. _Don Juan Triumphante_ indeed. His heart pounded under the cool face he presented, both fearing and longing for her touch. He raised a hand to hers, intending to remove it, found that he couldn't. "Christine-" he began. He relaxed marginally when her hand touched smooth skin and not the black mask. His breath shuddered as she gazed at the mask. The red flames of _Don Juan_ seemed to flicker around him, in a moment he would flee, every instinct told him that disaster was imminent. "Black?" She inquired, startling him for the briefest moment, before he tasted bitterness in his mouth.

His lips twisted. "Black for mourning. Black for night. Black for hell." Her eyes were suddenly pained. "I'm so"

He recoiled. "I don't want your pity, Christine." _No, I don't want it; I ache for it. I long for anything of you._

"It's not my pity I'm offering, Angel"

His breath caught in his throat at the bald statement. He fell back on the old defense. "I told you not to call me-"

"Than what am I to call you? You gave me no name." Her eyes were frank, almost amused. He lost himself momentarily in the way the light reflected off her auburn curls, the soft luminescence of her skin, those warm eyes. It was the impassioned Aminta gazing at him again. _'Past the point of no return...'_

_I can never deny her, can I? _He thought ruefully. But did he want to? "Erik." He said softly. His voice caught over the last syllable, the velvet cadence strained.

"Erik." She repeated, equally soft.

It was beautiful.

**Christine**

She stepped closer almost instinctively, blood thrilling. His simple presence was a quiet exhilaration. Her hands crept up to his shoulders. She felt his firm on her waist, one cupping her cheek lightly, as though she were made of glass. "Why did I ever let you go?" Her soft voice was tainted by bitterness as she looked up at him. Had she said it alound?

His lips twitched into a small smile. "Far be it from me to guess your mind, Christine."

"Enigmatic as ever, Erik." She reveled in the sensation of his name upon her tongue. Tilting her face up as a flower to the sun, she allowed a slight smile to cross her features, enjoying the warmth in the blue eyes above her, like thawed winter. He lowered his face to hers. "Naturally, Christine." He pressed his lips to hers gently, delicately. Her body flushed with heat, tingling with electricity. Unconsciously, her hands tightened their hold on him. He broke the light touch, she buried her face in his neck, surrounded in the aura that was uniquely his, protective and potent. He rested his head on hers, lightly kissing her hair. Christine marveled that they should have been reunited thus. In her Angel's presence, her world became safe. She sighed into the warm skin against her cheek. _Why? Why didn't I tell him sooner? _A flurry of voices broke them from their reverie. Erik's arms tightened protectively around her. "He thinks to chain us, that boy, you to him and myself to a prison wall." Christine felt the heat of anger in him. "Follow me." Trusting him without a second thought, she followed when he tugged gently on her unhurt wrist. "Where are we going"

Erik looked amused. "Why, to your dressing room, where you've been all along."


	2. And My Managers Must Learn

Note I: This phic will be closer to the movie, as I am more familiar with it than the book.  
Note II: The usual amount of fop-bashing is to be expected, as I am an EC shipper and Raoul and his hair annoy the beejezus out of me. (shudders) those _sideburns._  
Disclaimer: I do not own POTO or any of the associated actors/music/characters. If I did, you'd be seeing a lot less of Gerard Butler, now wouldn't you? ;) 

**And My Managers Must Learn**

**Erik**

He ushered her into the passage before him, closing it carefully behind him and locking it. Than, taking her hand, he led her along to the mirror. The dust stirred around their ankles, than he was looking into Christine's conveniently empty dressing room. His nimble fingers flicked open the switch. "You changed the lock." Christine observed. He smiled at her, a novelty that she found she could not get enough of. "A precaution against prying Vicomtes. Now, if anyone asks"She finished his sentence. "I was in my dressing room the entire time. That poor chorus girl won't tell, she could lose her position." Her expression was pitying. "Erik, you won't"

He sighed. "I shall refrain from tormenting the ballet tarts."

"Virtuous of you." She quipped, than her face grew serious. "She couldn't have refused him, you know. She has nowhere to go." He shook his head. "We really should get a more moral patron, you know." His eyes flickered with pronounced distaste. A knock at the door startled them both. "Quickly, go." She whispered. He slid through the mirror and locked it. He did not go far, however, in case the fop came after her again. In which case... he fingered his recovered lasso.

**Christine **

She opened the door, fixing a startled expression on her face at the worried men before her. The managers Andre and Firmin blinked at her, than the stout Firmin clapped a hand on the Vicomte's shoulder. "Why, Vicomte, she's just where I told you she'd be. Really, I don't know how you missed her"

Christine looked politely puzzled. "Why, Monsieur Firmin, whatever's the matter"

Andre coughed. "Nothing, Miss Daae, merely a miscommunication. We'll give you your privacy now. I expect we shall see you during the gala." He seemed unusually uncomfortable, even given his nervous manner. Christine smiled reassuringly. "Thank you gentlemen, for your concern. But I'm sure that I'm keeping you from some very important business. I would hate to delay you, the Opera depends so much upon you both." The managers smiled indulgently. "Thank you for your time, Miss Daae." Firmin said, rather pompously, she thought. They walked briskly down the hall, hauling a very disgruntled Vicomte with them. He sent her a glare full of ill intent. He would find her later that night, during the gala, she knew. But for now.  
She closed the door. The mirror slid open once again as she locked it behind her.

**Erik **

"Flattery will get you everywhere, hmm Christine?" She laughed, a silvery rippling sound, music in itself. "And the best part is, they both think they're utterly immune to it!"

He caught her hand, a reckless impulsiveness seizing him. "I will be watching you at the opera." She stroked the palm of his hand with her thumb. "Will I see you"

"Do you need to"

She opened her mouth to answer, closed it. "No. He'll try to get me alone tonight. I can't risk him seeing you." Neither of them needed to specify who he was. Erik's mouth tightened, his face seemed suddenly as still as the mask. "If he harms you again, I cannot promise what I will and will not do to him"

Christine looked pained. _God, don't let him kill again. _"Erik, I can't bear you to kill again. Not again. " Erik was bewildered. "Christine, why do you mourn for them?" Buquet had been nothing but a lech, and if Piagni had said one kind word to Christine, than Erik was a fop."They-"

"They were people, Erik."

**Try To Forgive, Teach Me To Live**

* * *

**Erik**

His demeanor became chilly, inside, he was cold with fear. _What does she think of me? _"Are you saying that my words are true, I am a monster to act so?"

"You know that's not what I meant, Erik"

Anger rose in him, so mixed with fear that he wondered if he was sane. "What do you mean, Christine? Why do you-" he stopped when he noticed the tears on her cheeks. "Christine, how is it that I've hurt you?" His sky-colored eyes were bright with turmoil.

Another tear made it's way down her cheek. "You don't understand, do you?" She said wonderingly. "You truly don't understand"

"Christine, what did I do to make you cry"

She shook her head. "It's not what you did to me, Erik, it's what you did to them"

He began to retreat, sensing a violent repudiation. She caught his wrist, he tried to pull away. "Christine-"

She looked directly into his eyes and he felt the breath leave his body at the force of that look. "I still love you, Erik," she said, softly and clearly. "And that's why I have to make you understand"

He relaxed the slightest degree at her reassurance. "I don't understand, Christine. They never treated you with anything but-" Christine put a finger to his lips and he fell silent. "I know that neither of them bore me any great regard. But Erik, they were people. Like Madame Giry, like Meg, like my father. Like you." She faltered, than continued. "Piagni loved Carlotta as you love me. Carlotta is as lost without him as I would be without you. Piagni died and his love was left behind."

He was caught by the first sentence. _Piagni loved Carlotta as you love me. _The man, Erik had never paid him much regard, suddenly seemed that much more real to Erik, imagining having to leave Christine behind. Put in that light, the man seemed more like Madame Giry or Christine, more alive. _Carlotta is as lost without him as I would be without you. _With something approaching abhorrence, he realized what he had done. He had destroyed something sacred, the kind of love that came only once. It seemed as though those people at the fairgrounds had been right. He was a monster. He stumbled back from Christine, his feline grace forgotten.

"I am a monster." He whispered, falling back against the mirror. _Christine, how could she think of him as anything else? Why did she not call for the police? Why was there no horror in her eyes at being in his presence?_She stepped forward, his eyes were pleading on her. _God, no. How can she see me as anything but a monster?_

"Christine-" How could he even say her name? Surely he would tarnish it.

She hushed him, fingers against his lips. He shivered under her touch.

_Why doesn't she run from me?_

**Christine**

_My God._ She thought. _He believes he's a monster, now more than ever. What have I done? _She pressed a hand to his cheek, afraid of what would happen if Erik could not control the fear in his eyes. "Erik." She said softly. "Erik, you are not a monster. Don't even think it"

He flinched. "How can you say that?" _To him I must seem so unattainable, no matter what he does,_ Christine thought sadly. She winced. "Erik, believe me. You are not a monster. Would you kill them again, knowing what you do now?" _Please, Erik._

Her heart tightened, than, after a long moment, he shook his head. "No." He whispered. "No."

She kissed him softly, stroking his face. "That's how, Erik. That's how I know you're not a monster." His face was damp under her fingers.

**But Who Can Name The Face?**

**Christine **

The gala was, surprisingly, another masquerade. Perhaps that was the reason poor Andre had been so twitchy. Not that she blamed him, considering Erik's intimidating appearance at the last such event. Apparently, this had been suggested by Firmin, something about a 'golden opportunity' for publicity. Meg had passed the information on to Christine from the Opera Populaire's secretary, who was currently courting her. Looking around, Christine marveled at the changes in everyone. The actor's voices were shrill with false gaiety, the dancers somewhat stiff. Madame Giry, however, was as unruffled as ever. Carlotta was in black, looking more woebegone than Christine had ever imagined the proud diva would let herself appear. Christine almost missed the notorious pink puffball dress and shrill demands. Mssrs. Reyer and Andre jumped at the least sound. Firmin was in his element, exuberantly greeting the prospective patrons and opera-goers. Gradually, under the effect of wine and normalcy, the people around Christine began to relax. Christine looked around at the sea of masks, apprehensive of seeing Erik or Raoul amidst the crowd.

"Christine. How charming you look"

_Speak of the devil._ Christine thought. She turned to face Raoul. Luckily, no one else seemed to notice the falseness of his cheer, the claws beneath the velvet. "The play was a great success, don't you think, Vicomte?" She replied lightly, looking for an excuse to escape. _Where is Meg when you need her? _"How could it be otherwise with such a star?" The other members of the little circle made bland agreements, than Raoul excused them both. "A moment, my friends, I would like to speak with Miss Daae." He led her off by the arm.

"What was it you wished to discuss, Vicomte?" She asked, feigning indifference. "Questions pertaining to a certain masked friend of yours, Christine, questions I'm sure you would rather answer in privacy"

"What makes you think I have any answers to give"

He raised his eyebrows. "Please, Christine, don't make me go to Madame Giry for answers. That could be quite messy"

They stepped out into the brisk air, snow crunching underneath their feet. On the roof, Christine realized, she was uncomfortably vulnerable. "They'll be missing you down at the gala"

The Vicomte's mouth tightened. "They can wait. Christine, have you thought over what happened today"

She arched her brows in false surprise. "Why, of course. And how is Celeste?"

His face darkened. " I was referring to your involvement with that monster, Christine. Do you think you can carry on this affair when we're married"

Christine sighed. _God, give me patience._"Raoul, have you considered that I may not want to marry you?"

He snorted. "Don't be ridiculous, Christine. You're wearing my ring, after-" He glanced down, froze. His breathing harsh, he snatched up her hand. Her barren fingers shone like snow. "How dare you..." He whispered. "Christine." His eyes were black with fury as they locked on to hers. His fingers tightened. "Christine, what is the meaning of this?" His voice had lowered to a hiss. "We're meant for each other, you and I. Have you forgotten what we promised"

Christine's eyes were clear as rain, her voice crystalline. "What is the meaning of a promise if it is not kept? Tell me, Raoul, why should I keep a false promise"

Raoul threw his hands up in exasperation. "I told you, Christine, she was nothing! Now why don't you come back down to the with me and we can forget this whole incident"

Christine gave him a pitying look. "Raoul, this isn't about the chorus girl. I don't love you, Raoul. And I can't marry a man I don't love"

Raoul's eyes turned the flat, lightless dark of stone. "Don't be a fool, Christine. I'll have you one way or another, wife or not." Her cheeks flushed. "How-" She broke off with a yelp as he grabbed her by the shoulders. Squirming, she pulled out of his grasp only to have him catch her around the waist. A hot whisper in her ear, "Christine, you're being difficult"

_"Let me go!"_ His hold tightened as she twisted, frantic. A sharp crack echoed across the night air and she stumbled forward at the sudden freedom. Whirling around, she saw a masked man make his way toward them, a lasso in hand. The noose was around Raoul's neck, he clawed at it futily. The Phantom's voice snapped like a whip.

"Enough."

**Erik**

The fop stopped his useless squirming. Erik eased up on the rope.

"You." The Vicomte spat, hands clenching into fists.

"Me." Erik agreed. He glanced at Christine and his heart tightened. She was white, shaking, but her eyes blazed like an inferno. He tightened his hold on the rope, wary of the looks the fop was sending Christine. He turned his attention back to the Vicomte. "If you threaten Christine again, I will find you, and I will not be so forgiving. He tied the end of the rope to a stone foreleg. "Let this be a lesson to you." Circling around the fop, now busy with the noose around his neck, he made his way to Christine. His angel's eyes were effervescent in the moonlight.

"Shall we go?" Her mouth curved up at one corner. "Please." She shivered in the cold. He reached to remove his cloak for her and she slid under his arm. He tensed for a moment. _Relax, Erik._ He thought. _Don't make a fool out of yourself. This is Christine. _Sufficiently chastised, he went inside with Christine. He turned to her. "Christine, will you wait a moment? I need to retrieve something. If the Vicomte presents the managers or the police with any evidence that I am here, they may well tear down the Opera to find me."

Christine nodded. "If Raoul stays here as patron, he'll take every opportunity to try and find you anyway."

He left her at the door of the passage. "Than we need a new patron. To protect ballet tarts and phantoms alike." He smiled and went to retrieve his Punjab.


	3. Only You

And the plot thickens. Welcome back and my deepest thanks to those of you who reviewed, you have truly made my night!

Aisuru-chan, littlemisshedgehog, Ceris Malfoy, the Mouse in the Opera House, Broken Songstress. Strawberry flavored chocolate coated fudge to you all!

For those of you who didn't review, thanks for reading!

Disclaimer: I do not own POTO or any of it's associations. I do, however, own a very nice Holy Grail that is very useful for holding tea and the like.

**Only You**

**Christine**

In a remarkably short time, Erik returned. She had not worried. The Vicomte's chances of catching and disarming Erik were laughably low. No one could find the Phantom in his Opera House if he did not want to be found. She breathed easier once he was with her, though. Standing alone in the dark, dusty passage had done little for her nerves. "Erik," she began softly, apprehensively. "I think it would be best if I did not go back down to the gala. Would you--?

"He laughed softly, sending a thrill through her. She realized, with a jolt, that it was the first time that she had heard him laugh. It was heady, sensuous. "Would I stay with you, Christine? Yes." His face relaxed and grew pensive with thought. "Actually... would you prefer, Christine, if we went to the underground lake? I would feel better if you were not within the Vicomte's reach tonight." At her assenting nod, he took her hand and led her down the passage to the lake. They stopped a moment by Madame Giry's room. "If anyone asks," Erik told the woman, "Christine is in her room and does not wish to be disturbed. The gala has fatigued her." It took several minutes to convince Madame Giry that Christine was, indeed, with Erik of her own free will. Eventually, a flushed Christine explained the Vicomte's erratic behavior. The woman's mouth pursed, she raised her eyebrows at Erik. He interpreted the look correctly. "Yes, Madame, he is still breathes. I do not think the managers would appreciate the kind of publicity a patron's death brings"

"While we are on the subject," Madame Giry interjected crisply. "I believe we need to start searching for a new patron, my dear." She nodded at Christine. "I shall see what I can find. Now go. I must return to the gala. Monsieur Reyer and the managers will be missing me"

"See what she can find?" asked a curious Christine.

A corner of Erik's mouth twitched with amusement. "Madame Giry's connections are... extensive. You would not think it to look at her, would you?" He handed her into the boat, than stepped in himself. The mist was deceptively chilly, in the candlelight, it looked warm and golden. Christine was suddenly swept up by memories. The strange duet, Erik's desperate flight after Don Juan, the return journey with Raoul. She seemed suddenly unable to breathe as she thought of all she had put Erik through. _He's like a child with his forgiveness, she thought. Like an angel._ And then, a more sober realization, a promise,_ I will never leave him again._ Erik hummed softly under his breath. The stir of the water echoed faintly.

"Christine?" She half-turned to look at him. "Hmm?" For once, he was tentative, almost shy. "How did you know-when did you realize that you did not-" he broke off uneasily.

"When I realized that I did not, in fact, love the Vicomte?" She frowned, pensive, her brow creased with thought. "I don't know when, exactly. It was just... he could not seem to realize that I was no longer a child. I was still his Little Lotte to him, and whenever I tried to convince him otherwise, he either denied it or ran off. I'm nothing more than a plaything to him, a child, something to be protected, held carefully close and never allowed on my own." They reached the far shore; he picked her up, holding her firmly, one arm under her knees, the other circling her shoulders. She put her arms around his neck. "That's how I knew, Erik. You protected me, but you loved me enough to let me go, in the end." A half-smile crossed her face. "I just couldn't let you go."

His voice was lowered, warm. "Christine," He stopped, unaware of anything but her, and set her gently on her feet. She smiled up at him. "Yes?" He stroked an errant curl back from her face tentatively. "I don't think I could let you go a second time." She rested her head against his shoulder.

"I don't think I want you to."

**Notes**

**Christine**

The next morning, Christine woke early and found herself- of all places- in her dressing room. Did last night really happen? She gazed around the room, so bedecked with flowers that it resembled a greenhouse. Or was it all a dream? She closed her eyes. _Please, let it not have been a dream. _When she opened them, she found herself looking a slip of white paper on her vanity. A simple _E _adorned the upper right corner. She crossed to the vanity and sat down, unfolding the paper.

_Christine, I thought, given the events of last night, that my managers would be uneasy if you were not readily available in the morning. Forgive me, I know it was discourteous to do without first asking you. I wish I could be here when you wake, but Madame Giry has found a patron and requested my assistance in the matter. I think you will like our new patron. Should you need me, however, I will be there. My love, Christine._

_E_

Christine ran her fingers over the creamy paper._ I wish you had been here, too, Erik. _Than her mood brightened. _Madame Giry has already found a new patron._ And Erik's enigmatic comment: _I think you will like our new patron._ She smiled and shook her head at the note. _You like to keep me guessing, don't you, Erik?_

**Erik**

He had left Christine, somewhat reluctantly, in her dressing room. What if the fop should get to her? Than he had reminded himself that the boy did not have the key to his angel's dressing room. Erik intended to keep it that way. "...and I will inform the managers that, in a recent letter, my sister had expressed the desire to see the Opera of which I tell so much." Erik redircted his attention to Madame Giry. Judging by the way her eyebrows were raised at him, however, it seemed that the woman knew he had not been listening. "You will see her later, my dear," she scolded gently. "For now, pay attention!"

The barest hint of a teasing smile crossed his face. "Yes, Madame Giry."

"And respect your elders too, young man." She added, but before she turned away, Erik could have sworn she smiled as well.

"When shall we expect the lady in question, Madame?"

"Tommorrow. Her estate is relatively close to the city, after all". Erik shook his head. "You never cease to amaze me." Madame Giry's eyes softened. "Thank you, little brother." She said, using her pet name for him. "And now, unless I'm much mistaken, you are wishing to look in on Christine." Erik half-bowed in mock gratitude. "You are never mistaken, Madame." She flapped a hand at him. "Oh, get out, you."

He was bound, as ever, to have the last word. "As you wish."

**Christine**

It was sometime later, after she had finished dressing, that she noticed another note in front of the door, apparently slid under it last night. _Oh, no_. She went apprehensively over to it, picking it up with trepidation. She was not dissapointed.

_Little Lotte, I am extremely upset with you. After the events of last night, I do not see how you can maintain loyalty to that monster. On that note, if you do not stop seeing him and resign yourself to a more suitable temperment, I will be forced to take some rather unpleasent actions if you do not do as I ask, the sensible thing. Firstly, I advise you to forget the Opera Populaire. If you cannot be in it without searching for your masked devil, than you cannot be in it at all. Secondly, I request your presence at my side in matrimony, should you wish my patronage of the Opera to continue. I should hate to see your little friend Meg, and her mother, begging on the streets. My requests are fair and reasonable. I expect your answer in two days. Until then,_

_Vicomte Raoul deChagny_

Christine stared blankly at the paper. "Erik," whispered. "I hope your patron is on their way. If not..."

_If not, we may have more trouble than we can handle!_

**I'm Here, Nothing Can Harm You**

**Erik**

He stepped through the mirror, relieved that the Vicomte would soon be gone out of their lives. He could hardly wait to deliver the good news to Christine, to see the shadows of tenseness and fear dissapear dissapear from behind her eyes. Until he saw Christine standing, still as death, with a note in her hand. A note that was not his.

_Dear God._ "Christine?" He was at her side in the space of a breath, holding her. "Christine, what is it?" She handed him the note. She was pale and trembling, her eyes huge in the candlelight. "Please tell me you have good news," she whispered. Her voice shook as she handed him the note. He scanned it quickly. His fingers tightened on the paper, creasing the linen paper. Only the angel in his arms kept him from tracking the fop down and wringing his neck._ How dare he threaten her! _Than he saw Christine's half-fearful eyes on him.

"I won't kill him, Christine, if that's what you're thinking." _As much as I'd like to._ "Don't be afraid. Our new patron is arriving tommorrow. Madame Giry's sister." He tightened his hold on her, she buried her head in his collar. The simple touch sent a flurry of emotions through him like startled birds."Until then, I'll watch over you." His voice lowered, forceful. "Nothing will harm you while I'm here, Christine, I promise." He stroked her hair, to soothe himself as much as her. Fear of what the Vicomte might do to her- half-formed whisperings in the back of his mind that he dared not contemplate, filled him with an almost primal urge to protect his angel.The light on the auburn curls trembled as she shook her head. "He'll kill you. He won't let me go."

"He can try." Erik's voice was soft against her hair. "But I will not leave you to his mercy. Never, while there is a single breath in my body."

**Christine**

She felt it radiating off of him, a fierce protectiveness, like a falcon defending it's mate. She let it surround her like a coccoon, warm and enveloping. His arms around her were firm, eyes reflecting a devotion that made her breathless.

"Erik," she asked softly, wanting to change the mood before she broke down and cried on him. "You said our prospective patron was Madame Giry's sister? Why does she not live with her?"

Erik seemed to sense how close she was to the edge, no matter how well she thought that she hid it. He rubbed her shoulders comfortingly. "For several reasons, Christine. To protect me, to watch over you. She loves the Opera House, you know. The girls are like her daughters. And lastly... Christine, do you think Madame Giry would be content to live on someone else's charity? Her sister married into the aristocracy, and Madame Giry will not use that to her advantage. Unless, of course," his eyes warmed to a glowing blue, "it is to protect her girls."

"I see." She did, too. Madame Giry, however cool she seemed, cared deeply about her girls, protecting them from the unwanted attentions of stage hands and managers alike. Threaten her girls, and Madame Giry became a dangerous enemy. Almost as dangerous as the Phantom.


	4. The Curtain Falls, His Reign Will End

**The Curtain Falls, His Reign Will End**

**Raoul**

He couldn't understand it, he truly couldn't. Hadn't Christine already chosen him? Didn't she know how much better off she'd be with him?  
_I can't believe-I refuse to believe that she would go back to that-that_ madman.

Images of the life they were supposed to be leading haunted his dreams. Christine, radiant at their wedding, Christine, watching the opera with him instead of singing in it. Christine, holding their children. By his side at night, in the morning. Where she should be.

_Why can't she see it anymore?_ He rubbed bloodshot eyes and contemplated his wineglass. He knew he'd already had too much. He didn't care. He reached for it again. It was the Phantom's fault. The angel-devil was beguiling his Little Lotte again, trying to steal her away from him. If it weren't for the accursed Opera Ghost, he and Christine would be happily married by now, the Opera House a distant memory. _Everything would be as it should._ He raged._ If only that damned monster was out of the way. _The Vicomte stopped. _If only he were out of the way._

He had tried the police. That had not worked. If anything, it had made things worse. They had been unable to stop him from wrecking the Opera Populaire, from kidnapping Christine... _Useless idiots. _He fumed. I_f you want something done, do it yourself, Raoul. If you want Christine to come back, get rid of him yourself._

A theatre worker had once remarked that no one could best the Phantom in his Opera House. Buquet and Piagni were testament to that remark.

_Than we'll just have to draw him out of it. And then... _

He shivered, a thrill of joy racing through him. _And then.._.

**Madame Giry**

She rubbed her temples and wished in vain to be twenty years younger. And to have a less complicated life, while she was at it. But it had its compensations.

Erik and Christine, together._ So, she finally accepts him._ A warmth spread through her every time she saw them together, the tender glances Erik gave his angel when he thought she wasn't looking, Christine, her smile blazing like wildfire. The aura of closeness, of _rightness_ between them. The way that they did not have to touch to seem so utterly connected.

A whimper came from the bed. Madame Giry sat back on her stool and sighed._ I wish all of my girls could find such joy._ Celeste, relatively new to the Opera House, young and frightened when the Vicomte had taken advantage of her, had been left with a cowering aversion to touch. Her dreams were troubled, she looked over her shoulder constantly as though she felt she were being stalked. She did not seem fully connected to the world, there were times when Madame Giry had found her standing in the hall by herself, staring into nothingness and shivering.

A cold fire sparked in her_. Damn the Vicomte. As though I didn't have enough to worry about- what with managers with all the sensitivity of a brick._ Damn him for taking the girl's innocence. He was the reason she woke up in the middle of the night, shaking and soaked with sweat. He was the reason she could not bear to be touched. Celeste was no prodigy, no great beauty, had no outstanding talent in anything except acting, but she was one of Madame Giry's girls, her adoptive daughters. Nothing gave the Vicomte the right to harm her, no matter how much money he gave to the Opera.

_I'll help Erik get him out of here if it's the last thing I do. _She thought forcefully, eyes on the half-conscious girl, whose eyelids were squeezed shut as though to block out the world. _He will never hurt my girls again._

**Meg**

She did not understand the sudden silences of her mother these days, though she suspected that it had something to do with Celeste's own quietness. There had been dark rumors, never spoken above a whisper, that someone had misused the girl.

_I almost miss the Opera Ghost. At least when he haunted the Opera, you knew who to be afraid of._ _Now..._

Even more disturbing, Louis, her current beau and secretary for the Opera, had confided worriedly that he thought the Vicomte was running out of money. A few weeks ago, the man had quietly auctioned off a family estate, and the Vicomte looked more worried and less sober every time Louis saw him. Christine, oddly enough, had never looked in better health. None of this made the least sense to Meg.

_What happened to the simple life? How can things be put back the way they were?_ And- _God, send us a miracle._ A thought hovered on the edges of her mind. The Phantom. What if he was not gone, as everyone supposed him to be? _The Opera is his home. I do not think he could leave it. If someone talks to him, told him what was wrong, he would try to save his Opera House._

_What ifs don't help anyone, Meg._ She reminded herself. _If he's still here, there's only one place to find him._

**Love Me, That's All I Ask Of You**

**Christine**

She sighed in pure contentment, watching Erik poring over a composition on his desk, humming quietly to himself, her book forgotten. _How long was it since I had a moment of peace like this?_ Not with Raoul, in any case. Since the night of _Don Juan_ even simple conversations had been difficult, silences had been awkward and his touch had stirred nothing but her apathy. Not that _he_ had seen it. _And he wants me to marry him. So we can both be miserable for the rest of our lives._

She had never realized it before, that Raoul had a naïveté, a way of keeping himself in denial, that even she had lost. If they married, it would be long nights of avoiding his eyes, forced tones and false smiles. Days of pretending to be in love for the sake of children that she could not love because they were his.

She would be one of the wealthiest women in France, envied and emulated. She would never have to lift a finger in her own interest again. Her least needs would be cared for by others. She would be treated like royalty, like a glass figurine, a valuable commodity.

_I don't ... want that anymore._

It was freeing to realize it- to realize that all she needed was the man who was both angel and tutor, friend and lover. All she needed was the man who gave her his love unconditionally and without reservation. She walked over to him, seated herself next to him, leaning against his shoulder. Wordlessly, he put his arm around her, drawing her close, looking up briefly at her with a warm glance.

All she needed was this.

**Erik**

But for the slight pressure of her slim body against his, he could hardly believe she was there, such a silent and restful presence. Her eyes were pensive on his, her expression reflective. It was thrilling, dangerous to have her with him, as though he would shatter with all of the joy that she brought. At any moment, he expected to wake and find this all a dream, his angel gone and his music gone with her.

Another glance reassured him that she was still there. The candlelight shone softly on her skin, her eyes blazed with another kind of light entirely. It froze his breath, immobilized him. _Why did I go so long without telling her? Why did I wait to tell her who I was- how I felt? Why did I never tell her I loved her?_ He looked briefly at the pale face intent upon his, eyes aglow. Taking her hand, he caressed it absently. There was something he needed to speak to her about- something that, if he avoided it- would make this entire existence a charade. If he was shackling her to himself again, somehow controlling her, however unconsciously...

_I'd be changing her into something made entirely for my own needs. Taking her freedom, her will to choose. _The last time there had been such a choice, it had been him that had released her from her bond. _What if I'm preventing her from living her own life? I want her to be happy, with or without me. _It was true that he wanted her, needed her, loved her desperately, but not if it came at the price of destroying her. _This needs to be her choice. _

_Forget the composition. I'll never finish it tonight. _

"Christine?"

Her eyes flickered up to his- piercing him like summer lightening. "Yes, Erik?"

He began cautiously, not quite sure how to navigate the topic. "Christine, are you sure you want to do this-" he swept his hand around the room, somehow taking in the whole Opera, "-forever? I mean," he continued tentatively, "do you want to get married or have children? To leave the Opera Populaire? I feel that I am- limiting you, somehow, to my lifestyle. I did that once, Christine, I won't do it again. Would you choose to do this-to stay with me- of your own will, if it were not for my own shortcomings, a need to heal me? I cannot choose your life for you Christine, and I will not force you to mine. You should not-" his throat constricted, his voice strained. "You should not stay with me merely because I may need it." _May?_ A gross understatement, but if he told her, she would feel compelled to stay, to heal him- and he would still be controlling her.

She laughed, rather breathlessly. "Was that what you thought? That I would be unhappy this way? That I would stay here only because I felt you needed me? Erik-" she took his hands in hers. "My reasons for staying are not at all as altruistic as that. I choose to stay because I love you, because no other makes me feel as you do. You and your music are enough for me. I am happy- more than happy- to stay with you."

The tension seeped out of him, he stroked her cheek. "That's all I wanted." And then, softly. "I love you."

Christine smiled up at him. She didn't even have to speak.

**Look At Your Face In The Mirror**

**Meg**

She stood in front of the mirror in Christine's dressing room. The eyes staring back at her were dilated fully, face pale and strained. The Phantom would see her fright as easily as she saw it. She could not guess what his reaction would be- she supposed he was used to it, but to have the audacity to disturb him...

This was a fool's errand and she knew it. She was shaking, her blood ran fast and cold. How could she hope to seek his aid- assuming he would even listen to her?

It didn't matter. The thought of what might happen to her home outweighed the fear that crawled over her skin. She fumbled for the catch she knew was there. Several unsuccessful moments went passed before she took a step back, reassessing the mirror.

_He had the catch changed._ It certainly proved that he was indeed still inside the Opera House. It did nothing to soothe her nerves. She ran her fingers over the mirror. _Now how do I get in?_

A hairline crack, so shallow as to be barely felt, met her fingertips. So slight was it, that at first she did not notice it. And then- a tiny, barely visible hole, cleverly blended into the mirror frame. She paused, stared at it for a whole minute before moving.  
_  
Brilliant._

She fished a hairpin out of her hair, a tight smile on her face. Inserting it into the hole, she jiggled it gently. _Alleluia. Finally, a good use for hairpins. _

A soft click a minute later told her that it had worked. She slid her fingernails into the crack and heaved. It moved a few inches. Adrenaline jumped through her. Another push and it was just wide enough to fit one thin chorus girl.

Damp air rushed out at her, chilling her as it swept fine hairs away from her face. She stared out into the darkened, musty hallway. It seemed to stretch on into infinity, cold and ominous. And at the end of it... an unpredictable, deadly Phantom. She crossed over the threshold and closed the mirror behind her.

_And now... to find the Angel in Hell._


	5. Wandering Child, So Lost, So Helpless

**Wandering Child, So Lost, So Helpless**

**Raoul**

One of the fortunate things, the Vicomte reflected, about not bothering with dimwitted lackeys, was the time it saved. Today was the day that Christine would give him his answer, and he had taken every measure to assure it was the one he desired. He had left yet another note in her dressing room, with specific instructions as to where and when she was to meet him.

Another note, one the Vicomte had taken great pleasure in writing, awaited the damned _Opera Ghost_. Raoul's cards were neatly stacked, before the sun set, he would play his ace. The_ Angel of Music_ would go to the hell that awaited him. Christine would be his Little Lotte again. Everything would be as it should.

He would alter his destiny, weave the threads as they were meant to be woven. He _would_ have the life he desired, with the girl he desired. And to hell with anything in his way. He smiled, a gesture completely without mirth or pity.

_Life will be what I want of it._

"Vicomte?" His valet broke the thread of his thoughts. "Vicomte, a letter for you from the university." He took it absently, dismissing the man with a negligent wave of the hand. Recognizing the seal, he smiled._ Ah, yes. My harvest bears fruit._

A few weeks ago, in a bout of apparent altruism, the Vicomte had donated a vast portion of his land "to support the genius of the best university in Europe." Vicomte deChagny was very much aware that appearances were everything- and that people seldom looked beyond them. He had been acutely aware that it had been quite a long time since he had patronized the influential professors and board of the university. And so, in one sweeping move, he had managed to simultaneously get himself into the favor of influential government and 'old-money' men and to give the students and professors of the university numerous reasons for gratitude.

And grateful people were so much easier to manipulate.

But those plans were for later. He skimmed the note briefly, a page of exquisite linen paper with a graceful note of thanks for his generous donation to their university. All in a graciously grateful tone, one subtly inviting a request for a favor in return. _Perfect. _He glanced out at the graying sky, clouds heavy with snow. The shadows of the trees almost reached his imposing gates.

_Almost time to go._ Just a few more hours.. After all, _someone _should be there to greet Christine at the cemetery.

**Meg**

She heard voices up ahead, one low, one higher. One male, one... female.

Female? Her fear began to recede under a wave of nervous curiosity.

Laughter. Meg froze, than sprinted around the corner. That voice had been Christine's, what was she doing here? Christine's blooming joy the last few days was prominent in her mind. But the last time she had discussed the Phantom with Christine, her friend had been white with fright. _What in heaven is going on?_

She stopped as suddenly as she had started. Two figures whirled to face her, the taller one moving instantly to shield the other. Two incredulous faces stared at her. Christine was looking at her as though she had never seen her before. "Meg?" Her voice faltered.

The Phantom had recovered more quickly. His pose was arrogant, arms crossed, chin up, voice somewhere between threat and genuine curiosity. "How did you get in here?" He was dressed with simple elegance. An unfamiliar _black_ half-mask had replaced the white.

Meg was, for once, utterly speechless.

**Erik**

Hell and damnation. He knew that Madame Giry's daughter- _Meg, that's her name_- had a boundless curiosity that had led her this way once before. But he sure as hell had not left the mirror open this time.

_And if she got in... surely that miserable fop can too._ For the first time in a long time, Erik felt threatened. And he did not appreciate it.

Christine echoed his thoughts. "If Meg got in here, Raoul can too..." Her voice shook.

His stomach clenched at the thought. The Phantom did _not_ enjoy the sensation of vulnerability.

"Actually," Meg's small, clear voice broke through their reverie. "I don't think he will. Not unless the Vicomte has taken to wearing hairpins."

Erik stared at her, torn between wanting to laugh and strangle her for her insufferable curiosity.

Laughter won. "A hairpin?" He asked incredulously. "You broke into my passage with a _hairpin!_" Somehow, the sheer ridiculousness of the situation kept him from flying into an overdramatized rage at her.

The girl looked rather wary. He couldn't blame her. Laughter was probably the last thing she had expected from him. _It's the last thing I expected from myself._ He thought, shaking his head.

Christine looked rather relieved that the situation hadn't gone out of hand. "I think you'll need to do something about the mirror, Erik." A small smile tugged at her lips.

"I think that you're right, Christine." He said absently. Than he redirected his attention to the Giry girl. "Well, mademoiselle, I cannot believe that you broke into my home without a reason. Why were you seeking me?" His estimation of her went up in the face of her courage.

Or insanity. _It's surprising how often the two coincide._

She recovered her aplomb, still looking a bit disconcerted. "You probably know that the Opera is in danger of being shut down. What with the rumors of the Vicomte going bankrupt."

"Rumors?" Erik asked, rather sharply, for the girl paled. He thought he knew everything that went on in his Opera House. _Apparently not._

She colored. "They say that the Vicomte is having money troubles. My Louis agrees with the rumors. So you see... sir," Once he got over his initial shock at the girls' audacity, Erik was mildly amused when she struggled with the question of how to address him. "If the Vicomte is going bankrupt, than the Opera will be shut down"

"I see." Erik raised an eloquent eyebrow, still feeling vindictive enough to make the girl squirm a bit. "And what did you expect me to do about this?"

"Erik, be nice." Christine remonstrated, lightly touching his arm. He sighed. Meg was fortunate that he found her break-in a cause for amusement rather than one for violence.

She met his eyes frankly. "I don't know. If I knew what to do, I wouldn't have needed to ask you."

"Sensible of you." Erik quipped. Christine elbowed him. Erik sighed.

She just didn't appreciate his sense of humor.

**Christine**

It was remarkable how well Erik was taking this. Christine was almost limp with relief that he did not seem angry at her friend. Instead, he seemed intrigued. Apparently the idea that someone could get past his locks was far more important to him at the moment.

_Men._ She would never understand them.

"There is no cause for concern, Mademoiselle. Your mother has the situation well in hand- did you not speak to her?" Erik gave the girl his full attention, another unexpected- and rather pleasant- surprise. Meg shifted. "She has been rather worried of late and- what do you mean 'she has the situation in hand'?" Her voice grew indignant at the implication that she was being left out of some secret.

"Nothing to worry about, Mademoiselle Giry. All will be revealed- perhaps sooner than you think..."

Christine sighed. Erik, it seemed, had not lost his fondness for tormenting the chorus girls. She took pity on Meg, who looked both irritated and relieved. "The Vicomte may not be patron for much longer, Meg. Your mother has found someone else. They are arriving- I believe that they are arriving today." She smiled at the gape on her friends face. "I believe we'll meet them sometime this evening."

"I'll show you out." Erik's voice was lowered in what she suspected was amusement. "It is the least I can do for an intruder of such remarkable talent." He appeared in good humor, a slight smile curving the sensuous lips. "It will be a challenge to create a lock that can baffle you, Mademoiselle."

"It will certainly keep you busy." Christine shook her head at the blatant and blank shock on Meg's face.

"Oh, not too busy, I hope." Erik murmured wickedly, words meant only for her ears as he walked them up the passage to her dressing room. His warm breath against her ear made her shiver.

**Here--- I Have A Note**

**Christine**

She left a light kiss on Erik's cheek when he left them in her dressing room. Meg sighed. "I thought I'd never see the day- you keeping a secret from me! You! You could never keep a secret to save your life!" Meg shook her head incredulously.

"And you could never leave one alone if your life depended on it." Christine replied teasingly.

Meg pouted. "Now, where would be the fun in that?"

Christine laughed. "No fun at all, I suppose."

Meg's face was the picture of satisfaction. "Exactly." Meg swept out of the door, "Now, I've a meeting with a certain someone, so if you'll excuse me, I'll go and wait for him." She flipped her fingers in mockery of a wave and disappeared around the corner. The insolent smirk on her face left Christine no doubt as to who that certain someone was.

_Poor Louis. _Christine reflected. _Poor fellow hasn't got a chance._ She glanced over at her vanity and was surprised to see another note in as many days. And not just any note. With a sinking feeling, she recognized the handwriting. Today she would have to give her answer to the Vicomte. She supposed this was just his little way of reminding her.

_Christine,_

_ You are fully aware that I expect your answer today. Meet me at your father's mausoleum. Come_ alone._ My people will have your darling friend Meg, within their grasp. So, I would suggest that you come as soon as you can, and tell no one. My patience is waning, Little Lotte. If I do not see you before sundown in the cemetery... Well, let's just say I'll be forced to take some nasty and rather unfortunate actions concerning your friend. _

_But why worry? I will see you in the cemetery. And Christine- there is no need to inform your masked friend that you are going. Indeed, I'm sure little Meg would rather you didn't. Broken legs are, after all, rather painful. Until then, Little Lotte,_

_Vicomte Raoul deChagny_


	6. Swear Never To Tell

Firstly, a thanks to all my readers. Even if you didn't review, it is such a compliment that you consider my work good enough to read. To all of those who did and do review, I cannot express my gratitude. Your words keep me going into the late (and sometimes early!) hours. To the Mouse in the Opera House, Erik's Secret Admirer, Mystari, Aisuru-chan, Soignante, Ceris Malfoy, phantomangel132, satinzevi89, and littlemisshedgehog, thank you so much. To all of the people who put me on their favorites or alerts list, I am grateful.

Now, before I lose my composure completely, here's what you've been waiting for. Chapter 6, as it were.

* * *

**Swear Never To Tell**

**Christine**

She let the paper flutter, limp, back to the dresser. Her mind raced, a strange buzzing filled her ears. _Meg. _Christine knew there was a possibility that the Vicomte was lying, that he did not, in fact, have control over Meg's existence at the moment. It did not matter. If there was even the slightest chance, the most remote of possibilities... She could not let her own fear cripple her friend. Not petite, child-like Meg, the only one among them who had retained her innocence.

_I will not have that innocence taken from her._

"Very well then, Raoul." She whispered to the empty room. "If you would tempt fate, let us see what fate has planned."

She swept up a cloak, made her way out through the drafty passages toward the stables. Her veins ran with cold blood, cold intent. She had no plan as to what she would do, what she could say to Raoul to make him see the truth, to prevent herself from committing the injustices she had already done. She would not betray them both a second time.

I will not wrong them. I will not. I will not. I will not deny Erik the peace he longs for. And I will not deny Raoul the truth he refuses to see. The same sleepy-eyed driver that had met Christine before was there again. "To the cemetery." She said quietly.A wave of deja vu swept over her at the familiar sight, the familiar words.

The air bit at her, snowflakes cold enough to cut.

**Raoul**

He waited for her impatiently. The snow around him shrouded the statues in cold light, only emphasizing the lifelessness of the cold stone. The silence was oppressive, pushing in on him from all sides, trapping him in a cold world of light. Grey light, white light. No presence among the dead stone other than his.

_Christine, Christine. _Where was she? Something in the Vicomte seemed to be shattering. _All I want is for her to be happy. To see her smiling as she did when we were children. _

_I want to be the one that makes her smile._

It tore at him, constricted his lungs, froze his blood, to think that she might think herself happy with someone else. With that monster in man's form. _Christine, Christine. _Can't you see that he is only lying to you again? How long before he hurts you again?

_How long before he reveals the devil behind the mask?_ His insides clenched tighter with every moment that passed. His heart pounded in his ears, the beat a steady melody in his head, pounding like the Phantom's organ below the Opera. _Damn it, where is she? Where is she?_ He wanted to tear his hair out, to find something and hear it shriek as he throttled the life from it.

At the moment when he was sure that he would scream, a voice came from behind him. It radiated control, a gentle soprano lovingly tutored. "Vicomte"

He whirled. His heartbeat slowed, but the nervous tension in him did not ease. "Christine." He frowned at her, gently admonishing the pale, dark-cloaked figure in the snow. "I told you to call me-"

"I know what you told me to call you." The dark intensity of her eyes stood out starkly against the whitened face. He found himself magnetized, hypnotized by the force in those eyes, so different from the gentle assent he was used to seeing. How could she have changed so? What had caused this-this creature to take his Little Lotte's place. _What did that monster do to her?_

Desperation roughened his voice. "Little Lotte, you know why I asked you to come." _Please, let her remember. _He prayed_. Let her remember that she loves me. _

"I know." Her eyes were pitying. "And I cannot give you the answer that you seek."

He seized her hands, gripping them until he could feel bone. She flinched under his hands, he did not notice.

"Vicomte, you're hurting me." Her voice was clear, calm. How could she be calm?

"Why, Christine? _Why can't you accept what Fate has given us?_ _Why must you go back to that monster? _Why, Christine, _why?_" His voice broke over her name. His body heaved with the fierce, tormented breaths that wracked his body.

**_"Why?"_**

**Inside My Mind**

**Erik**

His hand shook, the paper under his fingers crumpled with the force he had clenched them. Only one thought was in him, pounding through his veins, resounding in his head, resonating in his very soul. It was a word spoken with fear, spreading cold like poison through his body.

_ Christine, Christine, Christine. _

The bastard had taken her.

_Christine, Christine, Christine._

Erik had failed to protect her.

_ Christine, Christine, Christine.  
_

Her beautiful voice echoed through him, raised not in song, but in screams. His hands shook on the bridle as he slid the bit into the sidling stallion. He repeated her name like a prayer.

_Christine, Christine, Christine._

Cursing, he discarded the saddle and leapt on. The stallion's head jerked up as he kicked it into a startled gallop. The darkness was fast settling in, the snow turning grey underneath the creeping night. Until the last rays of the sun caught it, turning it to livid blood and flames.

_Christine._

**Gossip's Worth Its Weight In Gold**

**Madame Giry**

She felt the tension draining from her body, tangible as though it had been blood, at the sight of the coach that halted in front of the Opera. Upon it was the Leinette crest of her sister's deceased husband, the horses were the trademark Friesians that were the pride of his family's stable.

Madame Giry rushed down the steps, a smile of pure relief robbing her face of years. The door opened and her sister stepped out.

The woman radiated energy, charging everything in her vicinity with he force of her personality, the shining aura that hung around her like a breath of summer. Silvered blond hair was swept away from a face that was too spirited, too emphatic, to ever earn the description of "pretty". It made her shocking, breathtaking. The air of decadence, of life around the woman felt like a rush of warm air to her sister. She embraced her daughter's namesake. "It has been too long, Marguerite."

The woman smiled at her with an overwhelming fondness. "You work yourself to hard, Marie. I have said it once, and I will say it again."

Madame Giry raised an eyebrow. "Only once?"

Her sister waved a hand airily, dismissing the irony in her voice. "Come, Marie, I know there is nothing you would rather be doing."

"Indeed not." Madame Giry smiled.

"And how is little Meg?"

Warmth suffused her features. "Not so little anymore. She has herself a fiancé, now. The Opera secretary, a honorable young man."

Madame Leinette smiled. "Let's hope she doesn't run him ragged. What a vivid young girl! When shall I be meeting my dear niece again?"

Madame Giry shook her head. "Business first, pleasantries later, I'm afraid, Marguerite."

The woman sighed. "Of course. You did request my help after all. Where are those paragons of morality, the Opera Managers?"

"I hope you will not use those words to their faces."

"I suppose it would be rather tactless of me. And no help to you at all. But my dear, I thought you already had a patron. The young deChagny?"

Madame Giry's smile was tight. "He has not been the paragon of virtue that he would like the public to believe. He has frightened one of my girls very badly and is in the process of trying to subdue another."

Her sister's mouth pursed, eyes narrowed. "Where are your managers?"

**Firmin**

"Really, Andre, I don't know why your letting it upset you so. It's only a rumor. The Vicomte hardly seems-" _Ridiculous man. Why the devil is he being so gullible as to believe the gossip of stage hands?_ Andre's hair was testament to his worry, it stuck out like a ruffled mane from his head. He tore at it now as he paced, voice raised in panic.

"Firmin, do not be an ass! If the public thinks that our patron is drying up, the Opera will fail! And where do you propose to find another?"

"Why don't you try praying for a miracle, Andre?" Firmin snapped impatiently, now becoming worked up himself.

"Excuse me, messieurs. I hope that I am not interrupting your work."

Firmin whipped around to face the ornate double doors. His eyes passed over Madame Giry to the woman beside her.

_Aristocrat._ It was the one thing that came to his mind. She had the polished air of nobility, her dress opulent to a degree that would have been distasteful but for the way she eclipsed it, lighting the room with a powerful presence. This woman meant money. She meant opportunity.

"No, no, my dear woman, not at all." Beside him Andre was looking slightly punch-drunk. "I'm terribly sorry, but I don't believe we've met before?" Madame Giry smiled slightly, he wondered fleetingly what the ballet mistress was doing with this woman.

"Let me introduce you sir. Monsieur Firmin, Monsieur Andre, this is my sister."

_Her sister?_ Firmin wondered. _What the devil is going-_

"-Madame Marguerite Leinette."

_Leinette? Leinette?_ Firmin's heart leapt. The Leinette's were a very old family, dating back to some of the oldest written records in France. Notoriously reclusive, they were artistic connoisseurs, avid intellectuals and, above all, absolutely, fabulously rich. Firmin swelled with pompous purpose.

"I have long wished to see the Opera Populaire that my sister tells of so lovingly." The woman's voice was infused with energy, her movements quick and graceful as fire. "I must admit, the reality outshines the descriptions." She bestowed a smile upon the bemused Andre, who could not seem to believe the opportunity that had fallen into their laps. "Before I came here, I promised myself one thing, and now that I see the Opera, I feel I cannot do without it." Firmin became slightly wary, but, at her next words, very nearly gaped.

"Let me become the Opera's patron, I beg you, messieurs"

Firmin was definitely going to church tomorrow.

* * *

Again, thanks to all of my readers and reviewers- your opinion means so much. Chocolate, cookies and hugs to you all.

Lee


	7. My Solitude

**My Solitude**

**Christine**

She stared at him, wide-eyed at the pleading, implacable boy before her. _My poor Raoul. _She thought. _You never realized what I would do to you. I've been nothing but a burden, a weapon to cut yourself on._

"Raoul." The sound of his name seemed to jerk him back into some semblance of composure. His face was tight, eyes lit with a painful hope. Christine felt her stomach churn. _Now. Now, before I lose my nerve - before I lose my will._

"Raoul." She looked back into the naive eyes, so bright with hope, so helpless. "Raoul, you don't have to protect me anymore."

"Christine-" he exploded, losing his temper for the second time that day. "Do you really think that I did-everything- only for your protection. Do you think I proposed to you- do you think I went down to that- that _thing's_ lair merely to protect you? I love you, Christine, _I love you, dammit_. Of course I want to protect you- but not for the reasons you believe! Can you honestly tell me that you trust him-that he won't hurt you? Christine, you need someone who can offer you more than a life of darkness. You need someone who will love you unconditionally, someone _sane_, for God's sake! Not a_ murderer,_ not a _criminal_, not a damned _maniac_!"

He was as pale as she, hands shaking. "You need me."

Her eyes were pitying. "Oh, Raoul. My poor friend." She had not thought that he would delude himself thus, thought that-

_That you still loved him? You left with him, Christine. You left Erik for him._

She stared off into the distance, remembering Erik's warm hands on her in that fateful, overwhelming performance._ Don Juan. 'Lead me, save me from my solitude'._ He had whispered, the words a desperate plea, sung with all of the years of loneliness and darkness that he had spent behind them, all the years of a heart barren of love or comfort.

And yet- and yet, she had heard the depth of the love he had promised her in his voice, the emotion that refined his eyes to blue suns. The tenderness in his caress, the hesitancy, soon lost in a last effort to reach her, lost in the blaze of emotion that was his love. A love that she had rendered flightless, a bird of paradise whose wings she had clipped in the foundations of the Opera House. A love that could not take flight.

But it was alive. He was alive. Christine knew that she must betray her promises to them again. Promises to love them alone, promises that she had broken to both of them.

She had seen the love in Raoul's eyes, fondness, nostalgia for a lost childhood. A desperate clinging for the past. A world of opulence and tranquility.

She had seen the love in Erik's eyes, a blazing brand, a promise of eternity, a promise for all the years ahead of them. A world of music and light.

She had felt its answer in herself, resonating with a force that transgressed her mortal frame.

"Raoul." She began. "Please, try to understand. I did not choose to love Erik. I know that he has been shunned all of his life, and it marks him. I know that he seems unpredictable and volatile. I also know," here she paused, gathering her thoughts, "that he would not hurt me for the world. And that there is no one else in the world that I would have chosen to love." Her eyes softened. "No one. Raoul, you are so dear to me, but not in the way a husband would wish to be dear to his wife. You are still the friend of my childhood, no matter what you have done now, and you will remain my childhood friend forever.

'But I do not love you"

He stared at her a moment. She stepped back from him, waiting. He moved towards her again, a boy searching for a light in the darkness. Before he touched her, she pulled back. It was then she realized that the thunder that had been in her ears as she spoke had not been her own heart. It had been hoofbeats.

And they had stopped.

**Erik**

He looked at her- simply looked, because he could do nothing else. She blazed in his sight, his angel. The light of her eyes was a beacon in the dark shadows that began to creep around them. Christine's eyes were fixed on his, something was in them that he dared not name, to name it would have been to define it, to limit it. And what was in her eyes could not be limited.

He slid from the horse, leaving it standing in the snow, breath coming in quick clouds. "Christine." She smiled, and took a step toward him.

That one step was all that he had needed. He caught her up, wrapping his arms around her, stroking her hair feverishly. The petite frame of his angel fit perfectly against his, her arms fastened around his waist, forehead resting against his collar. "How much did you hear?" She asked softly. He tightened his hold on her, for a moment almost believing that she would disappear. _There is no one else in the world that I would have chosen to love._ "I heard enough, Christine. Are you hurt?"

"No. No," she whispered. "I am not hurt. How did you know I was here?"

"The boy sent me a message of sorts. I will not shut you away in a cage of glass, Christine, but neither will I abandon you when you need me."

A sharp sound, almost animalistic, broke him from his reverie. He looked up from the soft eyes to see the boy, eyes distraught, staring at them; slowly the Vicomte drew his sword. "I almost wish I knew-how you had deluded her so, Phantom. But-" he settled into the classical fencers _en guarde._ "I suppose it won't matter once you're gone"

Automatically he pushed Christine behind him, drawing his own sword. "Do you really think this serves any purpose, boy?" Oddly enough, he felt pity for the fop. He had been in the same situation, felt exactly what the boy was feeling now.

Desperation.

"I've beaten you before. You're not the Ghost you would have us all believe; you're only a man." He lunged toward Erik, a reckless look in his eyes. Erik recognized it, he had felt it course through his own veins often enough.

Bloodlust.

Erik slid out of the way and the Vicomete whirled, reflexes quickened in his high-strung state. He stared flatly into Erik's eyes.

"And men bleed."

**My God, Who Is This Man?**

**Raoul**

He had almost believed her- God he had almost believed her! The conviction in her voice, the brilliance exuding from her eyes... he had almost believed her. Had almost believed that his Lotte loved another man. Than-than he had ridden up, like Death on a black horse, ferocity and despair in his eyes. He saw him rein in behind her, stare at her as she spoke to him, still as one of the cemetery statues, and he knew. _He's using her. He's controlling her- just like he did last time._

His heart contracted painfully at the joy in her eyes as she turned, the desire in his as she stepped away from Raoul. To him. Three running steps, and the murdering Phantom's arms had been around his Christine. She clung to him, he heard the murmur of a question pass her lips, the sickening smile he had given her. How his eyes had glowed, blue depths burning like the embers of Hell.

_How can she love a murderer?_ The thought was inconceivable to him as he stood there, watching the man run his hands over Christine, caressing her hair, pressing into the small of her back, holding her to him. He saw her eyes, half-closed in rhapsody, and felt something begin to bleed inside of him. _That- thing is beguiling her again. Oh, Lotte, didn't you learn the first time? Why are you letting him do this to you?_

Images raced through his head, swirling like the mist upon the Phantom's lake. The harrowing journey down to the devil's lair after _Don Juan,_ the burn of the rope against his windpipe, the cold grate scraping against him. How he had pleaded with them both, for the Phantom to release his Lotte, how he had begged her to let him die if it would win her free of the monster she now embraced. How she had ignored his cries, choosing to sacrifice herself for him.

How his Christine, his pure, angelic Lotte had went to the demon in man's guise, had kissed him with a passion that had struck the powerful Opera Ghost still and torn Raoul's heart. That kiss still haunted him, the terrible wrongness of it shadowing his nights.

His heart hardened. It would not happen again. The Phantom would not win his Lotte with his tricks. The sight of them, standing now, with such closeness his lips against her hair, froze something inside of him.

And shattered it.

He strode toward the monster who held his Christine against his sinner's body. A sharp keening had broken from his throat as he drew his sword.

And now they faced each other, the Phantom between him and his little Lotte, as he was ever determined to be.

"She is not yours." The words were cold, drawn up from someplace inside that was more hopelessly frozen and dead than the lifeless graves around them. "She never was."

He lunged forward again, frustrated as the man eluded the blow.

"Stand and fight me, devil!"

"I know that Christine does not belong to me. Christine is, in all things, herself." His eyes were eerily calm, catlike. "Ownership is not the nature of love- haven't you learned that, in your fine courts?"

Something deep inside him was stirring. "How dare you speak of love, monster? What would you know of love, _Devil's Child? _What could you hope to have from Christine but her pity?" The man flinched. Raoul smiled grimly and pressed his advantage as they circled each other. "_Tell me, what could _you _know of love_?" A flurry of snow was flung up in the wake of an exchange of parries.

_One more step... _Raoul thought. _Just one more step..._

Christine's voice froze him in mid-lunge. "Everything." Both of their heads turned toward her. She was flushed, her eyes intent upon the blazing eyes that Raoul was determined to dim. She seemed to exude a purity, a strength of emotion that Raoul had never seen.

"Christine." He said breathlessly. She ignored him, her dark eyes on another man. "Erik knows everything I could have wished him to know of love. Despite his past. Despite the world that shuns him, he still loves." Her eyes were shining, a tear made its solitary way down her cheek like a falling star. "I was blind enough not to see it before, Raoul, that Erik is everything I could ever wish in love. And I cannot love another while he holds my heart"

The man- Erik- seemed momentarily brought out of the extreme concentration of survival. His eyes had left Raoul entirely, fixed in something like rapture, on Christine.

Raoul lunged forward, whipping his blade in the move that had disarmed the Phantom the last time they had met in this cemetery. He twisted, faster than Raoul could have imagined with reflexes that were almost superhuman. A sword flew through the air, to land, in a shining arc, on the snow.

The Phantom raised his sword to Raoul's throat. "I told you this was useless, Vicomte. You hurt Christine with your actions, do you not see?" With the other man's sword at his throat, Raoul turned his head to Christine. His Lotte's eyes were mournful on his, seeming to ask her favorite question:_ Why?_

"Lotte," he breathed. "Little Lotte, please-" he wasn't even sure what he wanted to ask her anymore.

_I don't want to see you with this monster._

She bent those endlessly grieving eyes on him; he felt his heart turn over. "Enough, Raoul." She whispered finally. "I've had enough. Erik?" She looked away from him. The Phantom's eyes did not leave Raoul's face, his voice softened instantly.

"Christine?"

"Take me home?"

He lowered his sword from Raoul's neck slowly, almost regretfully. In a voice so low that only Raoul could hear, he said quietly. "Give up, boy. You'll only hurt yourself- and her." He turned, crossed to Christine with swift steps, lifted her onto the horse's broad back and mounted behind her. In a spray of snow, like a broken wave of foam, they were gone.

Raoul stared after them, no thoughts within his head but one._ I cannot give her up. I will not give her up._

_I will not give her up._


	8. Our Games Of Makebelieve Are At An End

**First, a thank you to everyone who reviewed. Chocolate, cookies and Erik plushies to you all, you've no idea of the effect your reviews have on me! Thanks to each and every one of you. I've been wanting to do this chapter for a long time, there was an issue that needs dealing with. And I hope I did a good job with it. Chapter 8, you wonderful people!**

**

* * *

**  
**Our Games Of Make-believe Are At An End**

**Christine**

The warm pressure against her back supported her through that cold, snowlit journey. He turned down a side alley and led them on a twisting path; how he could see amidst the whirling drifts of snow, she had no idea. The flakes massed around them, forming into odd phantasms before dispersing. She shivered and felt his arm tighten around her in response, prompting a thrill of warmth to race through her.

They stopped, behind her Erik slipped to the ground, then his hands encircled her waist. She laid hers on his shoulders and he lifted her down gently, tenderly. She savored the touch, so firm and yet so unsure. He drew her to him in a sudden gust of wind, shielding her from the icy blast. They stayed that way for a moment, rediscovering the intoxication between them. Christine breathed in the warm comfort he exuded, reveling in the lean, firm body against hers. Her head against his breast, she heard the slow beat of his heart. _I don't deserve this._ She realized. Had she never noticed before how perfectly she fit against him, the brilliance of his eyes, the deep power behind the angelic voice? How tenderly he touched her, how his eyes caressed hers, how he told her he loved her with less than the merest breath of a whisper? The way his eyes, the simple way he moved toward her, promised unconditional forgiveness, promised unquestioning devotion._ I don't deserve him._

_And yet... he loves me. _The words sent a thrill up her spine as she closed her eyes. _He loves me._

Erik came to himself first, glancing behind them, then, keeping an arm around her, leading her to a large, overgrown and seemingly unused grate. In his other hand he held the reins of the stallion that had carried them. His fingers moved reassuringly for a moment on her shoulder.

"Down this way, Christine." She followed him without hesitation, fearless in his presence. With her Angel beside her, she feared nothing.

The passage became progressively drier as they moved in the vague direction of the Opera. She noted several twisting turns off of the passage, he did not pause but led them swift and sure in the torchlight.

"How many entrances are there, Erik?" She asked as they passed yet another shadow-strewn passage.

"Three that I know of." He answered, voice low, soothing. "I have not explored them as extensively as I would prefer." He smiled faintly. "No one else lives down here, Christine."

She was still not convinced, looking over her shoulder from time to time.

"Are you afraid, Christine?"

The blunt question, asked in a voice soft as night, made her whip her head to stare at him. He shook his head, face between affection and worry. "You're tense." His voice warmed, bathing her in reassurance. "Don't be, Christine. Nothing down here will harm you."

Alone now, they made their way to the gondola. He ushered her into it, stepping in behind her. "What if they miss me in the theatre?" She asked, suddenly worried. What if Raoul should come and demand to see her, and she was not there?

They would search for her. And they would find him. Her heart contracted at the thought. Torches, fire, voices shouting. Cries and jeers against her Angel of Music. Adrenaline rushed through her, she turned to face him. They would debase her Angel if they found him, they would see only the scarred face and never hear the seraphic voice, see the eyes that blazed like starlight, the power and the purity contained in the earthly shell. They would never understand him, her Angel of Music. Her breath shuddered. He had to be protected from them. At any cost. At all cost. At whatever price she could pay. She turned her head to the dark one, bent upon her in concentration. She stood and tilted her head back to look at him.

He steadied the boat with the pole, than brushed her hair back from her face. "Firmin and Andre are currently entertaining the Opera Populaire's new patron. It is late, Christine. Soon they will all retire to their beds. And frankly," his lips curved into an amused smile "I doubt that even a riot would wake them tonight with all of the wine the managers have downed"

Her eyes were wide, she felt limp with relief. "Madame Giry is a wonder." She raised a hand to his cheek. "And so are you."

His eyes gleamed brightly in the light, a smile evident in them. "You flatter me, Christine." He sighed mock-mournfully. "And as much as I'd like to bask in your approval, most of it was Madame Giry"

She raised an eyebrow enquiringly. "Most?"

He raised his eyes to the ceiling, refusing to meet her gaze. "All."

"Ah." Smiling slightly, she settled against him as the boat glided toward the far shore.

Her Angel was safe.

**Erik**

He could have sworn he caught a fleeting smile on her face as she turned from him. Still annoyed at Madame Giry for being so competent, he lapsed into silence.

_Then again,_ he reminded himself. _If it weren't for her..._ He touched Christine's hair gently, lightly as a breath of wind. The heavy locks felt like silk under his fingers.

The boat nosed up onto the shore. Erik stepped out, feeling the sand shift under his boots. He propped the pole against the wall and turned to Christine. She was luminescent in the candlelight, eyes glowing like embers, skin and hair pearled with light. He was suddenly thrown back to the first night he had taken her here. She had the same look of rapture, her eyes carrying a message for him alone.

He stepped toward her, offering a hand. She took it, he marveled at the slender strength in those fingers, and he lifted her from the boat.

Impulsively, he led her before the organ. "Christine, would you sing for me?" He saw a smile curve the rose of her lips, for a moment, he simply stared at her, transmuted into a creature of softness and light under the candlelight, an angel. Than he blinked. _Must you gawp at her, Erik? _He felt thoroughly exasperated with himself.

Christine didn't seem to care. Her face was still, her eyes gleaming with repressed laughter. He set his fingers to the keys as she launched into songs.

_"I have come here, hardly knowing the reason why-"_

He winced. "No, Christine. Not that." The disastrous Don Juan still haunted him. The beauty and the terror of it. Her eyes, wide and almost frightened when she had realized who had stolen the role of Don Juan. Frightened for him, he realized now. The smile of pure of wonder and delight. _What sweet seduction lies before us? _She had dropped his hand, he had stepped back reluctantly, and then, an ascension. A bold, dramatic ascension into something that tormented like Hell and blazed through him like Heaven- the little that he knew of it he had seen and heard in her... Her voice had soared around them, clearer and purer than he had ever heard her before. He had been breathless for a moment, than there was nothing except her as they paced deliberately toward each other, eyes locked, voices spiraling heavenward together. Their world reduced to flame and song, passion and need.

He still felt her against him. _The bridge is crossed, so stand and watch it burn!_ Her skin had burned against him, she relaxed into his hold completely, body molded to his, face seraphic. The raw emotion she had sent through him roughened his voice, he had heard the desperation in it as she turned an endlessly mournful face toward him, eyes that begged for forgiveness, mouth a sad and tender smile.

All that he had wanted was her love. His heart had skipped as her hand caressed his face, brown eyes shining not with fire, but with tears. _Christine- that's all I ask of-_

And she had ripped the mask from his face with that same expression, the tender, grieving love.

He shivered.

And felt Christine's fingers at his cheek again. His heart beat against his ribs like a caged animal. "Christine-" His voice was unsteady, breathing uneven. "Christine"

She met his eyes fully. The light in them was not the reflection of candlelight, it was too bright, too strong for that. It was the look of a woman for the man she loved. It engulfed him like a wildfire, racing through him like flames through dry brush.

"No more masks, Erik."

He hesitated, backed one uncertain step away. "Christine, do you really- I don't want to frighten you again... My face... it's-"

She cradled his head between her hands, stroking softly with light fingertips, through his hair. "It was you, Erik, who cried out when I saw your face." He could feel her breath against his lips. "It was never a mask that I loved, Erik." Her eyes were effervescent, glowing in the light.

He closed his eyes. "Christine..."

She stood on tiptoe and pressed her lips to his. For long moments, he lost himself to the sensation. His arms went around her instinctively, pressing her supple, slender body to his. Her hair tangled in his fingers, he felt her nails dig into his skin, running feverishly through his hair. There was a slow rocking behind his eyes, as though his soul were beating at his skin. He could feel her pulse race under his fingers, matching his own. The only sound was the harsh raggedness of breath, the loud pounding of his veins as lightening and song coursed through him. He ceased to be, he was a part of her, fused of this touch, this touch of desperation, this passion that seared him like fire.

It was not gentle. It was not tender. It was a thing of raw sensuality, sheer, overwhelming need. He couldn't think, couldn't move, could only gather her to him in an overpowering desire that shook him with its depth. He wondered how long he could remain sane, surely the body was not meant to taste Heaven before the soul had fled it, surely he would shatter with this intoxicating ecstasy.  
A clatter echoed faintly around the cavern as she pulled away. He felt a faint breath of air cool the fire that seemed to have ignited under his skin. Their rough breathing was the only sound.

He felt wind faintly on the right side of his face, raised a hand in slow trepidation to it. Rough skin met his fingers, knotted and scarred. He ran his fingers tentatively across the ridges of raised and ravaged flesh. He knew very well what he looked like, having cursed himself for it his entire life. There were none who had not run from it. Save one. Save her. My God. Christine's eyes were blazing on his, focused and bright. He marveled at the radiance exuding from her, the fearlessness of her.

The child was gone. In her place was a woman, an angel. His Christine.

She reached for him again. He lifted her up and succumbed to the thundering melody once more.

_Christine._ His mind was in rhapsody, spiraling in a slow ascension to paradise. He knew that he did not deserve this, the compassionate, angelic woman that held herself to him. _Oh, Christine. _He drew back from the kiss, as slow and tender as the other had been wild. He breathed in slowly, and began the soft song that he had not completed, the only song he had not finished...

_"Anywhere you go, let me go too." _The words were not, as they had been, raised and roughened. They were soft, intent, meant for her ears alone. _"Christine- that's all I ask of you..."_

She raised her eyes to his, dark and intent. The smile on her face transformed it from earthly beauty to something less tangible, as though her soul were surfacing, transcending her mortal frame. She opened her mouth, the pure, rippling sound that came from her struck him breathless, bathed his stillness in a glowing paradise.

_"Love me, that's all I ask of you"_

He lowered his lips to hers in wordless answer.

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**I'm quite happy with this- I hope you are too! Review and tell me what you think! Love n' hugs.**

**Lee **


	9. So Distorted

**For one of my less complimentary reviewers, an explanation. How you inspire me. **

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**So Distorted**

**Raoul**

He stared blankly into the flames, lost in memories.

_How did it come to this?_ He wondered. _Christine and I, how did it come to this?_ The events after the disastrous _Don_ _Juan _played before his eyes. The promises between Christine and himself as they took the Phantom's boat back up to the theatre. How true had they seemed, unbreakable, in the darkness of the Phantom's labyrinth! For a few days, at least, she had seemed content. Quiet, but content.

Then a shadow had begun to cloud her eyes, to mask her face. He knew that she was thinking about him- her eyes would look into nothingness as though she were gazing across a far ocean, her body would tense, she would toy with her hair or sit frighteningly still- cold and frozen as an ice-sculpture. It had hurt him, that she could not forget about the man who had almost destroyed them both, that he still haunted them through Christine's troubled mind. He had begged her, pleaded her, to forget him. She had responded with numbness, her eyes would waver with tears unspilled. He had asked her to tell him why he still troubled her so, what he had done to her that she could not forget. What had the Devil's Child done to her that grieved her so?

At first he had thought that he had misused her. When he broached the subject tentatively, fury had suffused her features, her voice became a thing of pure anger, raging at his concern.

_"Christine, if he hurt you- it wasn't your fault, Lotte. You did nothing to deserve it, the blame rests solely with hi-" _

_She had raised her eyes to his, the fearful daydreams gone from them, fully aware and glittering. _

_And furious_

_. "How dare you." She whispered. Every syllable was sheathed in ice, cold enough to freeze him to the marrow. Her eyes were blazing in a glacial, statuesque face. "You think that he harmed me? You think that he would have abused me?" She laughed mirthlessly. "He who feared at times to even touch me?" A strange smile, bitter and cynical, twisted her lips. "Oh no, Raoul. Any hurt I carry now is of my own making." _

_"You shouldn't blame yourself, Christine. He was mad- a murderer. You are not answerable for whatever he did to you!" _

_"He did nothing!" She turned and strode toward the door. At the threshold she paused and seemed to sag for a moment. A whisper, so quiet that he thought that he had imagined it, came back to him.  
_

_"He did nothing but love me."_

That incident had marked their decline. Strange questions had entered Raoul's head, notions that he would not have even entertained before. What was love, really? Was it this drive- this urge to protect that he had for his little Lotte? Was it the passion he heard behind the closed doors of the Opera House? The tenderness of the elderly couples walking down the streets together? Was it the obsessive infatuation of the Phantom of the Opera for Christine?

He had thrown himself into an affair with a chorus girl when the opportunity came, desperate to discover just what it was that bound Christine and him- and what did not bind them. His affairs had spiraled out of control as he searched frantically for the meaning of the tension between them, sought to find out just what it was that lay between them. And he had found that he could not stop. If he stopped, he would never know what separated him and Christine from other lovers. Why they did not feel the same rush when they touched each other, why she no longer sought his arms for comfort.

He convinced himself, at some point, that it was her fault. That, if she had only been willing to share the thoughts that shadowed her mind, than he would not have had to do this. He heard her crying at night, a whisper on her lips, a murmured prayer for an Angel of Music. She was searching for him again, she had to be. Her sudden disappearances, her absentmindedness, quick, defensive temper.

So he had immersed himself again with other women, trying to discover what separated them from Christine. _One betrayal for another._ He thought, with no little irony._ I prayed, oh God, Lotte, I prayed that I would be able to make sense of it, to guide and guard you again. I prayed to be able to figure it all out, to find some way for us to be happy. To discover what really lay between us. Why we became so distant, so cruel to each other. _

They had been cruel to one another, she seeking out her Angel of Music, he seeking out other women to try and puzzle out the questions that seared him. He had been cold to her when she had discovered him with another woman. He had been unforgivably insensitive.

He had seen the rose in her hand when she opened the door, tied with an all-too-familiar black ribbon. And felt like she had stabbed him.

It was the most foolish thing he could have done, to rage at her. But he had done it, and in doing so, had spurned and alienated her.

Then he had gone so far as to threaten her friends. With every intention of carrying out his threat if his demands were not reached.

_My God, what have I become?_ Had he really sunk this low, become this selfish monster? Had he become this thoughtless, wretched predator?

_I've become... like him. _The thought sickened him. The Phantom had killed for Christine, Raoul had been perfectly willing to take the same steps. _Worse, I doubted her. I betrayed her countless times over. _Bile rose in his throat.

_What have I become?_

**But His Voice Filled My Spirit With A Strange, Sweet Sound**

**Christine**

Christine looked over at Erik where he sat composing. For once, he seemed utterly relaxed, humming along to the score he was writing. She herself sat reading, though at the moment the book did not interest her as much as the strange man who sat with eyes half-closed as song flowed from him.

_How did we come to this? _She wondered. _What miracle is it that I am down here with him? _

She mused over that fateful night where she had been forced to choose between two men she loved, one offering only his music and his love, another promising safety and content.

She had taken the Phantom's offer to save the one who had come to rescue her. How odd that he almost had saved her. With Erik in her arms, she had chosen to save Raoul and surrender herself to a world of music and fantasy.

It had felt like home, like walking in the door after a year away and finding everything as it had been when she left. .

Until he had released her. His eyes had been almost glowing with the wonder and the fear, the strange complex of emotions running through them both. _Go now and leave me!_

He had stumbled back from her, she had seen it in his face that he thought he did not deserve what she was offering. It was too powerful, too pure, for the Angel in Hell.

_Oh, Erik, why did you do it? Think of those days we will never get back. Days when I understood the meaning of what it was to be a ghost. Days where I walked in shadow as you had, with no one to give me light. _

_Those days of darkness we shared, but refused to share with each other._

After Raoul had led her back up to the light, she had tried desperately to be happy for his sake. She almost thought that she was happy. Delusion had always been one of her stronger points as denial was Raoul's. _But I could not forget him. In the night, there was music in my mind._

A requiem.

And she had begun to wander, in her mind, to search for the meaning, why she had chosen to leave him, why she had not stayed when he had let her go, taught him that she did not want to be released. That all she wanted, all she needed, was what he was offering.

But she could not do it in front of Raoul. Not then. She had still been a child then, frightened to upset her elders. Desperate for safety, a shield from the exhilarating emotions that had made her spirit soar.

She had betrayed them both a second time, with a false promise.

_Swear never to tell- the secret you know, of the Angel in Hell!_

He had been willing to let her go. It hurt, but with Raoul there, she had not had the courage to see another way.

Her cowardice had given her long nights of arguing with her childhood friend, who seemed convinced that the burning guilt she felt was of her Angel's doing.

_P__oor Raoul._ He had never known the burning love that clenched around the soul, that warmed and seared it by turns. He had never known the passion that reduced the world to two single beings. The desire that caused the spirit to flee the body, the heart to flutter in ecstasy. That was a secret only she and her Angel shared.

Her cowardice had given them a false life- a false promise.

His betrayal had given it all back to her. She could not hate him for it, for it had driven her Angel back to her and given her the courage to do what she had long desired, but never dared, to do.

To go back to him.

_Thank you, Raou_l.

**Here, Beside You**

**Erik**

He knew that she was watching him, with that sweet smile on her face and eyes aglow. He had never been so content, yet so elated, in his life. It was pure bliss to sit here with his two loves, Christine and music. _Why did we waste so much time in doubt?_

He had felt the promise in her kiss the nigh of _Don Juan_. It was like notes from the organ, deep, thundering, with the power to force men to their knees. _I was so sure that it was not meant for me._

Beauty was not meant to dwell in darkness like his, with shadows slowly bleaching the spirit.

_But it is not darkness anymore. Not when she is here._ He had done what she had so often wished for him that night. He had learned compassion. Mercy. The love so strong that it had demanded her release, anything to make her smile.

Anything.

Fate, it seemed, had not finished playing with them, as he had hoped it would. It wove darkness through them both after he had let her go. She had walked blind in the daylight, he had become, in truth, a ghost. Fate had led her fiancé to some madness. A madness that he was almost ashamedly grateful for. It had given him back the love of his life. The honly person that could chase the shadows from him.

It had placed them together again, side by side in the cavern that was no longer Hell.

It was home.

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**Abbreviated, but enlightening, I hope. Thanks again to all who left reviews for chapter 8. Now more than ever.  
**


	10. One Final Questiion

**You knew it was coming. ) **

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**One Final Question**

**Erik**

He had never been so frightened before in his life. Not even in _Don Juan_. In _Don Juan,_ he had known the script, the choreography. In this he was blind. Fearful to look in her eyes and see the scorn of the fairgoers. Or worse- their disgust.

He fingered the ring absently. It was a slender band with a single diamond. Modest, beautiful. He could never imagine Christine wearing the heavy, gaudy rings that the highborn lavished on their plump-fingered wives.

She was sleeping peacefully in the swan bed, tranquil, a slight smile curving her lips. Her hair was carelessly strewn across the red fabric, her skin seemed to glow from within. He took a calming breath, in a futile effort to slow his racing heart. For all the good that it did. His body seemed to shake with each heartbeat, his hands were unsteady.

"Christine?" Hell, even his voice was uncertain! She stirred, turning her face to him. He called again, softly, consciously controlling his voice. "Christine?"

Her eyes opened, content and warm. "Hmm?" She was smiling at him, utterly relaxed. He was unnerved for a moment by the utter trust in her eyes.

He seated himself slowly, carefully, on the edge of the bed. "Christine, there's something I've been wanting to ask you."

He saw understanding light in her eyes, her smile broadened. "Yes, Erik?"

_ She's not going to make this easy on me._ He thought with a mental sigh. Her eyes were expectant, shining. He could have sworn he saw mischief in them. Her playful smile rendered him speechless for a moment.

He breathed in deeply, releasing it slowly. He reached for her hand gently, she slipped it into his, caressing the palm.

He met her eyes fully, mind to mind, soul to soul. "Christine, will you marry me?" At her silence, he began to let go of her hand, to stand.

She sat up and grabbed his arm.

"Ask me without the mask."

"What?" He was more than a little stunned at this unexpected request. And... fearful. She met his eyes, held them steadily. "Ask me without the mask, Erik." The dark eyes on his were intent, serious.

Tentatively, he reached up to his face. Slipping his fingers under the mask, he set it aside gently. Revealed and defenseless, bared before her, he met her eyes again.

"Christine, will you marry me?" He held her hand loosely, waiting.

A slow smile spread across her face. The effect was breathtaking, her eyes blazed, she seemed to glow with an inner light. Her eyes were shining, lips parted in a dazzling smile.

"Yes."

He slipped the ring onto her finger, sensing a similar expression on his face. His whole body seemed to hum with the blood that ran through him in this elation, this ecstasy, this bliss. His spirit soared as she stood, pulling him up. She was laughing and crying, eyes brilliant and face radiant. He caught her waist, and, in a moment of fearless jubilance, spun her around. "Christine, oh, Christine!' He laughed, intoxicated by her presence. He felt as though fire was racing through him, heavenly flames of pure light.

Startled, he felt a prickling at his own eyes. Christine reached up, taking his head between her hands and their lips met with a soul-shuddering sweetness. He felt her heart, beating in erratic unison with his as they clung and tasted. He had never felt this before- the way every sense was heightened and his body seemed charged with energy. He had never felt the life beating in him so strongly. The emotions overtaking him rendered him nearly senseless. There was only Christine, the feel of her crushed against him, his hands buried in her hair, her arms around his neck, the scent of her like amber and vanilla. Her lips, demanding and giving with fiery recklessness.

They broke apart, breath shuddering, supporting each other, awed, completely silent. The effects of her kiss still pounded through his body like sweet thunder.

She buried her head against his chest. He traced her cheek, lifted her face up to his. "I love you." he said softly, his voice low, husky.

The same blazing was in her eyes. Her voice matched his, intimate and soft. "I love you, Erik." She reached for him, tears on her cheeks. He met her halfway and surrendered again, giving himself up entirely to the sensation.

To her.

_I love you, Christine._

**Teach Me To Say Goodbye**

**Raoul**

_My dear Christine,_

_I am sorry, so sorry for the pain I have caused you. I can only ask your forgiveness, though I know I do not deserve it. I will not burden you with any excuses for my behavior- there are none, I know. I still love you, as I always have. But I cannot expect that love to be returned, and unrequited love is no love at all. I can no longer ask you to live a lie with me; I can only wish you and your angel the same happiness that you gave me, for a time. Do not lose him, Christine. Despite everything I have said about him, despite his flaws, I know that he loves you. Be happy with him. _

_I am leaving France, I find that there are too many memories here. I will start a new life, as you will, I suspect. I wish only the best for you and Erik. _

_Perhaps you wonder when I finally understood? I had sworn not to give you up, in the cemetery I swore to take you back. Then, when I went home, I remembered the way he looked at you and you at him. Some vows are more sacred than others, Christine. I cannot ask you and Erik to break yours. Goodbye, Christine and good luck._

_Sincerely,_

_Raoul_

It was with a sinking feeling that he entered the Opera Populaire, one last time. He inquired as to the whereabouts of Madame Giry and was pointed to an office down the hall. Every footstep was like a death toll. He knocked on the open door. "May I come in?"

Madame Giry looked up. Her severe face was distinctly cool and Raoul had a shrewd guess as to why. _Those poor girls... what was I thinking? _He could only hope that they would heal, that the damage he had done to them would not scar them forever.

"You are no longer the patron of the Opera Populaire, monsieur. I cannot imagine what business could bring you here." Here eyes were icy, her voice perfectly controlled. She sat behind the desk as regal and distant as a queen.  
He sighed. "I know that Madame. And your new patron is an admirable woman, well deserving of the honor. Madame, I am leaving the country in a few days. I do not plan on coming back"

He handed her an envelope. "Would you give this to Christine, Madame?" He caught sight of her expression. "It is a farewell, Madame, and... an apology." He placed it on her desk gently and turned to go.

"I will give it to her."

He did not turn. He felt suddenly, endlessly weary. "Thank you." He felt her eyes upon him, pitying, and left the office.

He paused on the threshold of the Opera House. "Goodbye, Christine." He whispered. "I love you."

Raoul stepped out into the snow.

**Where You Long To Be**

**Christine**

She laid down the letter with a sigh. _I'm sorry Raou. I only hope that you can find happiness where you are going. You deserve it, my friend._

Erik crossed to her from where he had been sitting. Standing behind her, he rubbed her shoulders comfortingly. "He'll be all right, Christine."

She smiled sadly. "I only wish that I had not hurt him so."

Erik turned her to face him. "Christine, we are not perfect." He cupped her face, stroking it gently. She caught his hand. "Really?" She murmured wickedly, arching an eyebrow. She kissed him gently.

He kissed her back, a tender brushing of the lips like gossamer. His eyes were brilliant in the candlelight of her dressing room, she noticed. He smiled at her, than it faded slowly. "No, Christine. Do not blame yourself or him for what the past holds. What's done is done"

She laid her head on his chest. "When did you become a philosopher, Erik?"

He stroked her hair, she savored the closeness. "About the time I asked you to marry me. Now, knowing that boy, he has wished you a lifetime of happiness. Why don't we oblige him?"

She laughed, tugging him down on the couch beside her. "That is the wisest thing I have ever heard you say."

He traced her brow. "Well, you know what they say about good advice." She shivered as he whispered in her ear.

"And what do they say about good advice, Erik?" She toyed with his hair. He smiled and pressed his lips to hers.

"Follow it."

She laughed with him. "There's nothing I'd rather do, Erik." With that, she surrendered to his embrace. "I love you." he whispered into her ear, cradling her in his arms. He couldn't seem to stop saying it over the past few days. Christine smiled. "I love you too, Erik."

A lifetime lay ahead of them, she knew. It would not be easy. It would be one of the hardest things either of them had ever done. But the reward was well worth the effort, she thought. They could do this. The greatest obstacles had already been overcome. And they were together.

_We are together._

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**Well, all good things must come to an end. Thanks to each and every one of you who reviewed. ** _

_**Broken Songstress- My very first reviewer. Thank you. **_

_**The Mouse in the Opera House- I like 'this' Erik too. **_

_**Ceris Malfoy- For encouraging me to continue- ASAP!**_

_**littlemisshedgehog- For a two sentence review that meant more to me than a paragraph**_

_**Aisuru-chan - For encouraging me throughout the story, most especially during my first flame. **_

_** satinzevi89- For simply taking the time**_

_**Erik's Secret Admirer- For reviews that made me smile**_

_**phantomangel132- I couldn't wait to write more either!**_

_**Soignante- For giving me an idea on the first review. Thanks. Disposing Raoul without disposing him was a puzzler.**_

_**Mystari- Your reviews always left me smiling. Grinning like an idiot, actually, but let's not get technical. **_

_**Genius of Music- First person to use the word "awesome" in a review**_

_**Gothic Tiger- I laughed when I read your first review. Thanks for sticking with me- we've passed the fifty mark, now! **_

_**Twinkle22- Always inspiring the emotional author inside me. I love the playful parts too.  
**_

_**ShannonRose- Ack! No, I did not mean that! laughs whew, I almost fell out of the chair at that one. **_

_**katiebabs- For the shortest and most puzzling review I've ever gotten. Maybe someday I'll figure it out?**_

_**Lust 4 Violin- Just because you called him " die Fop". ) **_

_**AngelUndertheOpera- Yes, I did make you guys question his sanity, didn't I?**_

_**Anei Aikouka- Someday, someday, I will read the book. **_

_**Katherine Silverhair- Yeah... me and my grammar, eh? Still, "marvelous" is some pretty great praise!**_

_**Amaya92- Anything I can do to help**_ _**my readers. You guys are worth it. **_

_**phanatical- dryly For the little flame that inspired chapter 9. Are you going to read past the first chapter?**_

_**moonlit-leaf- I'm very happy to be your first POTO story author. Again, someone who inspires the sentimentalist in me.**_

_** Jamea- Ick. Let's not even think about it! An aristocrat housewife! >. **_

_**MyDarkAngelErik- Intriuging people is fun ) **_

_**Thanks again to all of you. I shower you with metaphorical cookies, chocolate and Erik plushies. I could never have done this half as well without you guys supporting me. Have you any idea how fantastic you are?  
**_

_**Lee**_

_**PS- I am thinking of starting a modern-day POTO fic. Should I? Message me and tell me what you think. )**_


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